


Giving the Slip

by herbailiwick



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, Scheming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-16
Updated: 2012-11-16
Packaged: 2017-11-18 20:16:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/564856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herbailiwick/pseuds/herbailiwick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For cheekbonesofbenny.</p><p>Sherlock tries to make John jealous in order to decide whether or not to ask him on a date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Giving the Slip

Sherlock knew thousands of things about John Watson. He knew the extent of his injuries from the war (he'd even traced his favorite, the star-shaped scar on the back of John's shoulder, with an appreciative touch of his fingertip). He knew the average amount of money John spent at the shops. He knew how John's hand felt in his (small and perfect).

He knew the chemical properties that explained John's long glances, frequent lip-licking, and intense jealousy over Irene Adler (which had partially stemmed, admittedly, from the fact Irene had been rather dangerous). He knew that John sometimes thought of them as a couple, as did so many others in their life.

What he didn't know, however, was what was holding John back. If there was something holding John back, there was no way in hell Sherlock was going to take that step toward asking him. He couldn't risk rejection from his only friend; to do so would be mad. So he waited, and he hated to wait; waiting wasn't really his area.

"It's like he doesn't even notice me," he blurted out to Molly.

Molly looked up from her microscope. "No, I know what it's like to not be noticed," she said steadily, looking away when Sherlock looked away. He looked back, and she looked back. "He notices you. But, if you don't even want friends, if you barely even want him _that_ way, what would make him think you wanted more?"

He raised his eyebrows slightly, impressed with her. "Should I do something?"

"Only if you want things to change. And, you do, don't you?"

"I do," he conceded, sitting down heavily on a stool. 

"Okay, then just ask him on a date."

"I'm not going to do _that!_ " Sherlock said, sounding offended.

"Well," Molly said, " _that_ is how it's done."

Sherlock paused. "I remember seeing this show on the telly."

"That's a first!"

"Oh, shut up!" he scowled at her. "No, I remember seeing this show, and to get a boy jealous, this girl went out with a completely different person."

Molly sighed, turning straight toward him on her stool. She shook her head. "I see where this is going."

"Then help me!"

"Sherlock, no one will believe it if it's me. I've got this friend, though, Corinne, and she might do the trick."

Molly was always complaining about Corinne. "I decline. She sounds ghastly! No, it's got to be you. We just have to appear as if it's natural and he'll buy it. He's a bit of a romantic," Sherlock said with a slight frown.

"One fake 'date'," Molly finally said. "Only the one."

"Up to three," Sherlock negotiated. "I really need to know. _Really_."

She huffed out a breath. "God forbid I come between you and an experiment. I have a condition, though, Sherlock. These can't be actual dates. We can dress up, meet up, and come home, but I don't want to go out to dinner or anything. And don't look at me like that; you know why."

Sherlock's confused expression melted away to a somber one. "Condition accepted."

"Good." She paused. "Now, hand me that saline solution."

***

When Sherlock came back with Molly and had her in for a bit of a drink, John offered to give them some peace and quiet.

"No, don't be silly! We spent the whole evening together, didn't we, Sherlock?"

"You look like you had fun," John said kindly.

"I didn't even know Sherlock was interested in dating," Molly said. "And it's particularly surprising that he should choose me."

"Why not? You're friends," John said. "And you're a lovely person. Anyone would be lucky to date you, Molly." 

Molly giggled.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Nice evening, Molly, but we can't do this again." 

She caught Sherlock's expression and, frowning slightly at the apparent change in plans, she nodded. "Yes. You're right. It was nice, but I don't think I'm exactly what you're looking for in a date." Molly looked at John and smiled. "It really was a nice evening," she said pleasantly. 

"Well," John said, looking between the two of them. "That's too bad. Are you sure?"

"Oh, we're sure," Molly said. "I've got an early morning, and God knows Sherlock doesn't, so I'll just be off, then."

On her way past Sherlock, she squeezed his shoulder briefly. 

"I can show myself out; it's fine," she said, and then she was gone.

"Are you sure about this, Sherlock?" John asked after she'd left. "Maybe you could give it another shot. She's probably devastated."

"Oh, she's fine." 

"But she's...Sherlock, she's in love with you!" John said in a hushed tone.

"How do you know? Do you know what it's like to be in love with me?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

John shook his head, pointing a finger at Sherlock. "You, Sherlock, are a twat."

Sherlock just smirked at John until John cleaned up the table a bit and went upstairs. 

Sherlock texted Molly that he'd need to see her again the next day.

***

"He ships us!" Molly said with a laugh. "He actually ships us." At the lowered brows and the confused crease at the bridge of the nose, she giggled. "Never mind. Fandom term. He wants us together, I mean. That's quite amusing."

"Not really. I'm no closer to finding an answer." Sherlock sighed.

"It'll have to be someone he wouldn't be happy to see you with," Molly said. "Who doesn't he like?"

Sherlock paused, thinking hard about it. "Jim Moriarty," he finally said. "No thanks," he added.

She laughed. "No, obviously that isn't viable. And there's Irene, but she's hiding, right? Yeah. Hm."

"He likes everyone I know," Sherlock said, sounding defeated.

"Maybe he thinks you're straight," Molly said. "Maybe we need someone—a man—who would look down at John, or who would make fun of you."

"Harry the Equerry," Sherlock muttered.

"Who?"

Sherlock waved a hand. "This ridiculous friend of my brother's. He doesn't approve of my life as a consulting detective, since I made it up, but I think he's just jealous others made up his job for him. He owes my brother a favor."

"Okay. Well, if you're sure," Molly said.

"Yes. Now, Molly, before I go...."

"Yes?"

"Could you spare any fingers?"

***

"This is not how I intended to have the favor repaid," Mycroft said thoughtfully, "but I suppose it does make us perfectly even."

Sherlock stiffened, expression turning very sour. Mycroft had babysat for Harry, and the implication was that Sherlock was Mycroft's child. "That's not funny, Mycroft."

"He'd think it was hilarious," Mycroft said. "Anyway, he'll meet you at 221B."

***

"Hello again, Doctor Watson!" Harry said cheerily. "How is the blogging coming along?"

John looked a bit shocked, finally remembering to offer his hand for shaking. "Hello. So...you and Sherlock...?"

"We're about to share dinner. Call it what you'd like."

"So...you're bisexual then," John said, staring at Sherlock. 

"Yes," Sherlock said.

"Well," John said awkwardly. "Have a good time, then."

Sherlock and John stared at each other for a long moment. 

"I'll just go get our tickets," Sherlock said to Harry. "Unless...John has any objections?"

"It's all fine," John said firmly. "Remember?" He preoccupied himself with some scrubbing up as Sherlock went to fetch the tickets.

Sherlock came back downstairs and stood near Harry, watching John scrub the dishes. John scrubbed harder the longer they just stood there.

"John, would you like to join me for dinner?"

"Sherlock, dates don't usually consist of someone coming along and getting in the way, alright?" John said a bit testily, cursing under his breath at whatever it was he was having trouble getting out of that glass tumbler.

"I suppose I'll just have to give Harry and his wife the tickets." 

John paused. He turned around, the scrub brush flinging soap bubbles onto the floor. "Sherlock, stop dicking around. What are you playing at?"

Sherlock looked surprised for a moment, but he covered it up and smirked. "Well, if we don't want anyone interrupting our dinner, we'll have to send Harry away, I'm afraid. I've observed your jealousy, John, and now that I'm reasonably certain you'll want to go, I'm asking you out. Alright? I'm done with this game."

John stood there, brush still dripping onto the floor. "So you just thought you'd play a game."

"Yes."

"You thought you'd make me into a pawn."

"Ye-...no." Sherlock paused, clearing his throat.

"And I'm supposed to be flattered that you want to take me to some restaurant instead of going out with a married man you barely know."

"It would be nice, yes," Sherlock pointed out.

John slammed the brush down in its spot by the sink. "You're unbelievable," he said. He made his way up the stairs to his room, closing the door behind him.

Sherlock thrust the tickets into Harry's hand and ran up the stairs. "John!" Sherlock called. "John. I didn't...I didn't want to make things strange by asking." He rested his forehead against the door. "It's not that I don't care about your feelings," he pressed. "In fact, you'll find I do, if you only... stop this."

"I'm not going to stop, Sherlock," John called through the door.

"John!" Sherlock said, fearing John was going to shut him out of his life as completely as he'd shut him out of his room. "John," he choked. He turned from the door and glanced down to where a concerned-looking Harry stood. Grimacing, he turned back to the door. "Can we at least talk about this?" he said.

"You, wanting to talk," said John with amusement. "That's a new one."

Sherlock swallowed at his guilt. He trained his face into an expression that didn't care quite so much. How had this gone so wrong?

Harry cleared his throat. "Apparently, the ruse is over."

"Yes, you're dismissed!" Sherlock said with an absent sort of bite, descending the stairs like his limbs were weighted.

"Would you like some tea?" Harry asked quietly.

Sherlock sat down heavily. He shrugged, but the look in his eyes as he glanced at Harry said that, yes, he would like some tea. 

Harry filled the kettle and turned it on. As Sherlock was starting to lose the battle he was fighting trying to keep his anxiety about things with John at bay, John's bedroom door opened.

For a moment, Sherlock honestly didn't understand why John had changed his attire. "John?"

"Dinner, right?" John said.

Sherlock stared at him. So did Harry, if more politely.

"John?"

John stepped closer to Sherlock. "Unless you're getting cold feet?"

Sherlock reached out and tugged John closer to him, gazing into his eyes. John looked up at him and scarcely breathed. "Not a chance, John."

John tugged Sherlock down by the shoulders, lifting himself up with purpose. Nearly the full length of their lower lips brushed against each other, slow and catching. John sighed and nosed at Sherlock's cheek.

Harry turned the kettle off and looked about.

"Thank you, Harry," murmured Sherlock without moving. John gripped at Sherlock's shoulders even more tightly. "Send my regards to Mycroft."

And then they were alone. 

"I have reservations," Sherlock said.

John slowly eased himself away from Sherlock, but his hands still lingered on Sherlock's shoulders. "I don't," he teased.

Sherlock actually started to flush.

"You really thought you could experiment to make me jealous," John said with a chuckle.

"You look nice," Sherlock commented, taking in John's appearance.

"It worked, I'm sad to say. Hoped against hope I wouldn't be that transparent. But, somehow, I can't be mad, if you're taking me out to dinner, or at least not _very_ mad." John briefly slipped his hand into Sherlock's, gave a squeeze, then let his hand return to his side. He went to turn toward the door, accidentally slipping.

Sherlock had impressive reflexes, helping him catch himself. He laughed, grinned. "Dish soap," John said.

"Dish soap," Sherlock said with a laugh. "Hang on. Um. Can I tell Molly this worked?"

"Molly. She's a good friend, Sherlock."

"She is."

Sherlock found himself smiling when Molly cheered. She really was honestly, genuinely happy for him. There was disappointment there too, which was to be expected, but less than he'd thought there would be.

"Am I to take this to mean that you ship us?" he asked mockingly, but with a hint of nervousness behind the mocking.

She burst into a series of half-formed excuses peppered by startled giggles. Sherlock quirked his lip as he hung up.

"She does," he announced to John.

"Does what?"

Sherlock just smiled. He had one less reservation now.


End file.
